


Caged

by perpetuallycaffeinated



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cages, Denial, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Scent Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1332337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetuallycaffeinated/pseuds/perpetuallycaffeinated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>omega!verse Hannibal/Will. Will's in heat, on the other side of a cage in Dr. Chilton's hospital. What's a poor Hannibal to do? (And what exactly is Will playing at?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caged

**Author's Note:**

> omega!verse scene based on the scene in Season 2 of Hannibal where Will is a manipulative little shit to get Hannibal all protective and clingy about him

“I’ve been advised to stay on this side of the line.”

Hannibal placed a hand on the back of the cheap folding chair Dr. Chilton had allowed him to bring into the therapeutic module room. It matched the modules themselves, old rusted things that stood as a testament to Frederick’s particular brand of incompetence .

The coppery smell of rust, too close to the scent of blood, should have clouded Hannibal’s reason just a bit, put him in the mood for bloodlust and a nice gourmet meal (even for an Alpha, Hannibal’s sense of smell was extraordinarily sensitive). Of course, the all important word was _should_. In a building that reeked of rust, poor food, and even poorer prisoner hygiene, Hannibal could only concentrate on the scent roiling, pouring out of the cage in front of him.

“Ah...select patients have taken to, mm, urinating on the therapists.”

Will’s voice was barely shaking, but Hannibal could see the hot flush that had crept up onto his neck and face. He knew that more pink skin was hiding beneath the plain prison issue jumpsuit, covered in a fine sheen of sweat that was cranking out the pheromones. The hair at the base of Will’s nape was already black with moisture, damp curls sticking to the curve of his neck. The man opened his mouth to say something else, but hesitated, open mouth involuntarily sucking in great gulps of air. His eyes fluttered closed, and Hannibal knew that as much as Will’s smell was overpowering him, his own had to be having an equal, if not more extreme effect on Graham’s control.

Dr. Frederick Chilton was one of the few psychiatrists to still deny hormone blockers to omega prisoners; Hannibal had known that coming in. What he hadn’t known was that when Will had requested a visit with his ex-psychiatrist, it would be on the day that he was in heat, practically on fire in a way not even his encephalitis could have managed.

Will Graham, a newly hormonal omega, had demanded a meeting with someone he knew to be an alpha, and now here he was, enclosed in an ageing metal cage while Hannibal fought the urge to circle the module, gulp down lungfuls of his scent and spiral in for the kill. Was the module, in his mind, effectively a shark cage? While he did have a metal box between Hannibal and himself, it also left him trapped, alone in a room with an alpha with nowhere to run.

Even if Will had been trying to angle for the illusion for safety during the meeting, the reason why he’d demand to see Hannibal while in this state was perplexing in itself. Intriguing. Ever, ever so interesting.

Will tilted his head back against the cage wall and gave a shaky grin.

“You know, you can come closer than that,” he gulped, tilting his head back even further to show off a sweat-soaked expanse of bare skin. Hannibal thanked every moment in his past that let himself keep a composed poker face as a fresh wave of pheromones washed over him.

Hannibal merely nodded, making a show to carefully drag the pitiful chair closer until he was about two or so feet away from Will’s module. Settling down, he leaned back, knees wide apart as he arrange his body language to his own liking. Hannibal was trying to show Will that he wouldn’t allow himself to be affected by whatever plan he had, but that dark, base part of him urged him to stretch his arms out along the back of the chair, spread his knees and widen his shoulders. Push out his chest. Dominate and take up as much space as possible. _Peacock._

“Thank you, Dr. Lecter, for coming when I asked,” Will said, the beginnings of a groan hiding behind his polite words. When his head lolled forward, Hannibal saw that his eyes had gone almost completely black, pupils blown wide. Whatever Will’s angle was, he himself was quickly losing control in the battle against his newly-rekindled hormones.

“Of course, Will.” Hannibal allowed himself a wan smile to creep over his face, letting himself feast on the sight and aroma of Will in such a state. “You know I am eager to help you in any way I can.”

Will just answered with a broken laugh. Sliding a hand over his neck, he smeared the the sweat down one of the metal bars, mixing the scent of his heat and iron. Blood and sex.

Hannibal rolled his shoulders and minutely adjusted himself in his seat.

“I know that, or I think I know. Even after they treated my encephalitis, before this, the sounds in my head, Dr. Lecter...my thoughts don’t sound like me anymore.”

“You’ve already told me that,” Hannibal answered, “when you were accusing me of performing the murders that you’ve been accused of.”

“I know, I know.” Will shifted uncomfortably, practically writhing and rolling on the seat as the heat spiked through him. He had already been in full-blown heat when Hannibal arrived at the hospital; his presence should be pushing Will completely over the edge. It was an impressive feat that the man was still forming coherent sentences, really.

“There are parts of me missing, I don’t know what you--what happened,” Will continued with effort. “Hidden or stolen, I don’t know yet, but you’re still in me.” Will groaned and leaned forward until his head hit the front of the cage, hair pressed into an even wilder mess of curls as he shifted his weight forward. The man made another noise of frustration in the back of his throat and wound his fingers through the metal latticework until his knuckles turned white.

Hannibal swallowed, shifting again as the posture triggered another cascade of responses in him. Whether he was aware of it or not, Will was practically straining at the cage, back arched in anticipation of--

He immediately tried to quash that line of thought, but he may as well have been in heat alongside Will Graham, barely holding onto his control with determined fingertips. That tenuous hold had no chance of stopping the barrage of images, of _possibilities_ that assaulted his mind.

 

_WIll Graham in the interrogation room, shackles firmly held in place by the iron ring while Hannibal pounded into him from behind._

_Back where he should be, out of the clumsy hands of Dr. Chilton and back in Hannibal’s office, on his back on the couch while Hannibal pushed deep inside of him, relieved Will’s urge and claimed him from the inside out. Let Will’s sweat soak into the expensive upholstery along with their mixed spit and come._

_Will Graham in his bed, moaning as Hannibal fucked him slowly, feeding him piecces of sweetbreads by hand, the thymus, tongue and cheeks of one of his many pigs marked for slaughter that he’d killed in preparation for his Will’s heat. Slain with the art of death a mere second in his mind, superseded by the drive to kill and provide for the man waiting in his bed._

_Covering Will with his body while he drove into a welcome, wet heat, pushing their mouths together and never, ever stopping until Will was sated. Until his **body** got what it wanted._

Hannibal had put their daughter in Will Graham once. Now everything in him was screaming for him to do it again, this time in a much more permanent, productive manner. He tried his best to keep the howling frustration from showing on his face and scooted the rickety chair back a few inches. It was well within an alpha’s abilities to break through an old lock and get at the prize inside. Only the knowledge that Dr. Chilton was recording everything, both audio and video feeds, kept Dr. Lecter firmly seated in his chair.

“Me in your head, speaking to you as you imagine I do…does it still distress you?”

Will raised his head, but did not move back in his seat. His face was distressingly accessible, lips bitten red and full with arousal. He opened his eyes, staring at Hannibal through his lashes and messy fringe.

“It doesn’t matter if it distresses me,” he panted. “Nothing--I’ve got nothing else solid to hang onto. Everything shifts and slides out of my grasp when I try to find it. I can’t trust anything I remember, I can’t--especially like this---please,” Will’s voice hitched, and it sounded like he was close to crying. “Please, Dr. Lecter, I need your help.”

“If you wished to have one of our conversations, you shouldn’t have asked for it in this condition,” Hannibal answered, trying and just barely succeeding in making his voice calm and level. “With your recent history in mind, and the added stress of this hormonal change, you’re not in any state of mind to try and begin building back--”

“ _Help me_ ,” Will interrupted his careful words with a hiss. _Fuck_ _me_ , his scent added in between the words, underlined in red ink by the way he pressed even closer to the front of the module, rolled his hips and bared his neck.

Hannibal pushed up out of the chair and stepped back as Will surged forward, trying to keep the distance between them. He dusted imaginary grit off of his pants legs, grateful for his long suit jacket that hid what was now a painfully hard erection. Any alpha or omega in the building could probably smell it, but there were always appearances to consider.

“Will, I need you to take a deep breath and consider--”

“You said that you were my gauge, a paddle,” Will spoke over him yet again. It would have struck Hannibal as insufferably rude if they weren’t both swimming in a haze of pheromones. “Or is that no longer an offer? I’m still finding cracks in myself I never realized were there, locked in this damn place, and Frederick….”

Will did not stop speaking, but Hannibal was no longer listening after the name “Frederick” passed his lips. He felt a prickling from the base of his neck down to between his shoulder blades. It was a useless vestigial hackle response that could only be felt, barely recognizable save for a passing flare of goosebumps. However, what it signaled was more serious than a genetic blip from the past. _Frederick._ He’d almost forgotten that Dr. Chilton was an alpha male. He barely registered on anyone’s radar, hormone levels and physiological responses just barely above the mark that separated them from the beta population, but he was an alpha nonetheless.

The therapeutic module was no longer a half-hearted attempt at a cage to keep Will from Hannibal. It was now a sanctuary that kept Hannibal’s precious Will Graham out of reach of a lesser man. A lesser man who, quite unfortunately, held the keys to the very same cage.

Within Hannibal, the urge of an alpha and that of someone who very much valued continued access to Will Graham wrestled, fought, and came to a compromise in the span of a few very tense seconds.

Hannibal turned his head away from Will to try and breathe in some less scented air, tidying up and folding his chair as a pretense.

“Will,” he said, carefully placing the sad piece of furniture back against the wall. “I need you to stand in the very center of your therapy module and close your eyes. Put your hands by your side and do not move, no matter what.”

This time, there was no interruption. Not even a question before Will forced himself to stand as instructed. It was hard to maneuver in such a small space, but he did his best to keep himself dead center, an equal distance away from each of the sides of the cage. While Will took deep breaths and forced himself to still, Hannibal quickly hung his jacket on the back of the folding chair and rolled his shirt sleeves up to the elbow. One, two steps forward, and he was at the eye of the storm.

Will tensed up as Hannibal moved closer, but he remained right where he was, eyes shut tight. Good. This was one paltry thing Hannibal could do, and he intended to do it as thoroughly as possible. He slid the flat of his tongue from the inside of an elbow up to the pulse point on his wrist, then repeated the gesture on the other arm, making sure to get as much of his saliva on the delicate stretch of skin as possible. Sweat, spit, and natural pheromone hotspots; the only way to more strongly concentrate his scent would have involved something very untoward of a respected psychiatrist during visiting hours.

Once he was satisfied with the strength, Hannibal slowly ran his forearms over the cage bars. Though he gave the vertical bars attention as well, he circled around the module twice, checking that every centimeter of the horizontal bars were covered to create an unbroken perimeter. Will remained in one place for the whole procedure, but his head turned slightly as he made his way round, able to hone in on Dr. Lecter’s position without even opening his eyes.

Finished, Hannibal wound up where he had begun: standing dangerously close to the cage, less than a foot of space separating him from the other man.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he instructed, “ and put your hands out, together, palms up. Stop when you feel metal.”

Once again, Will did as instructed. It was amazing, Hannibal mused as he pulled his pocket square out, how the man could swing from a rough, rude manner to quiet obedience within the span of minutes. Whatever the mechanism, it assured Hannibal that he would never grow bored. Genuine affection bloomed and twined with the pheromone-induced possessiveness, and he gently snaked a hand through the bars and dropped the delicate silk into Will’s waiting hands.

The moment Will registered the touch, registered what it was, it was though someone had sent an electric current through the man. His entire body seized up, adam’s apple bobbing and chest heaving. A choked sob made its way past his lips and Will collapsed backwards, miraculously landing on the seat even though his eyes remained shut.

Hannibal couldn’t allow himself to think of how Will would respond to his actual touch during heat, if this was how he responded to a mere proxy. At least not until he was in the privacy of his own home. Tearing himself away from the scene, Hannibal quickly unrolled his shirt, not even bothering to rebutton the cuffs before slipping his jacket back on. He could still smell Will’s heat under the two layers of fabric where he’d run his arms over sweat-marked iron. He’d probably smell it even more strongly outside of the hospital, all the way back home alone in his car. Even when physically absent, Will Graham would still managing to test his discipline.

“Goodbye, Will. Please let me know if this...treatment...helped alleviate any of your stress, once you’ve come to a more stable state of mind and body,” he called as he left the room in long strides, not looking back as he heard one last, shuddered gasp at the sound of his voice.  

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Will was surprised that Dr. Chilton had allowed Hannibal Lecter to visit while he was in heat. If he was an insufferable narcissist at the best of times, he was utterly unbearable now that he could draw a reaction out of Will. To Will’s dismay, there was no disappearing into a mind palace in the face of a heat.

Even more surprising was the fact that Dr. Chilton, or a nurse, or even a security guard hadn’t stopped that... _thing_ Hannibal had done. If Frederick had been watching (and of course he had been), the only explanation was that he had known exactly what Dr. Lecter was doing, and it had had its intended effect.

Hannibal was something Will couldn’t put a name to. He most certainly was a murderer, if not something far worse, that ink-black wendigo with dead eyes. Still, the thought of a deadly, powerful alpha marking him apart from Dr. Chilton’s influence made something in the darker corner of his psyche purr and preen. And speaking of marking…Will opened his eyes, finally looking at the expensive square of fabric Hannibal had left in his hands. Even as he felt the fire stoke higher in his body, Will’s face broke into an uneven, shaky grin.

His reaction to Hannibal hadn’t been faked, couldn’t have been without access to a large amount of high restricted drugs. But that didn’t mean what he _wanted_ and what he _needed_ couldn’t be found in the same play. Twisting the silk into a thin cord, he slowly began to wrap it around his little finger. Even the sound of a door banging open didn’t disturb him from his reverie, smiling down at the piece of himself that Hannibal had practically given up as a desperate offering.

“Oh my--that is _foul_!” He recognized Dr. Chilton’s voice, but from what he could hear, the doctor’s familiar footstep-cane-footstep pattern had stopped immediately upon entering the room. Will only grinned wider and flared his nostrils wide, taking in the scent around him. Hannibal had practically peed a circle around him with the scent marking. Much like the man, Hannibal’s scent carried threats of power and violence, irrational possession and obsession with the omega he’d marked. Any weaker alpha would rather do anything than approach the area.

“Better call a nurse in to take me back to my cell, Frederick,” Will called. Dr. Chilton answered the taunt with the sharp bang of a slammed door.

Will simply tilted his head back, grin wide and vicious with teeth, and filled the empty room with laughter.

  
  
  
  



End file.
